Won't Let You Disappear
by weirdgirl42
Summary: Takes place during the second season premiere. Between when Mary and Marshall are walking and Marshall bringing Mary home. Slight Mary/Marshall


Marshall wiped the sweat away from his forehead and leaned back against the nearest boxcar. It had been nearly an hour since he had chased a frantic Mary out of the station. He hadn't been lying when he'd told her they would walk as long as she needed. And he hadn't been lying when he'd told her that she needed to go through what she was.

Now, however, she had begun walking in circles around the train yard, muttering incoherently and obviously trying not to cry. Marshall was at a loss. He had no idea what to do with a hysterical, PTSD suffering Mary. Squinting into the afternoon sun he could only watch helplessly as his partner paced like a caged lion.

All of a sudden Mary fell to her knees, doubled over, and threw up into the dirt. Marshall flew to her side and held back her hair while she heaved until only bile came up. When the dry heaves had finally stopped, Mary sat back on her heels and began to cry.

It was different than the crying from earlier in the day. It wasn't the short, breathy sobs of a panic attack. Rather, it was the kind of crying a person does when there just isn't anything else left to do.

Without any hesitation Marshall wrapped his arms around her shoulders and held her tightly to him, her back flushed against his chest and her body almost in his lap. Pulling them away from the small pool of vomit he held her. He didn't shush her, or tell her it was okay. There was no point. She needed this release. Instead he just kept his breathing even, his cheek pressed against the back of her head, hoping that maybe he could help take away some of the pain.

"I killed him Marshall," she whispered as her tears finally began to subside. "And the worst part is, I wanted to. I wanted him to be dead and I wanted to be the one to make him dead. I've shot people before, but it's never been my first choice in a situation. But this time…god I wanted to shoot him over and over again."

"I know," Marshall replied. He hadn't released his hold on her yet, and even more surprising was that she hadn't pulled away. "It doesn't make it wrong. It doesn't make you a murderer."

"I can't get it out of my head. And I keep seeing other scenarios. If I hadn't gotten loose when I did…" Another sob escaped.

"But you did get loose. And you killed him in self-defense. You did nothing wrong. You just saved me a couple bullets."

Mary pulled away and looked back at him. "What?"

"If you hadn't already killed him, I would have put a bullet in his head. And then three or four more in various other parts of his body." His voice was calm and held no trace of sarcasm or irony. Reaching up he brushed the hair from her face. "I would have made him pay for what he did to you. And I wouldn't have felt guilty."

"Marshall…"

"Look," he said, "I love it that you don't need me to protect you. It's one of the great things about you, that you can take care of yourself. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't do everything in my power to keep you safe. It doesn't mean I wouldn't kill someone who hurt you so badly."

Mary turned so she was facing him and leaned her head against his shoulder. Marshall wrapped his arms around her again. "It's like it's not me anymore," she said. "Like I'm somewhere else and just pretending to be here. Or like I'm slowly disappearing and I'm scared I'll never get back."

"You will," Marshall promised. "You're here. This is you. Right here. With me. I'm not going to let you disappear."

Mary took a deep breath. She knew she should feel awkward in his arms but she didn't. There was no way she was anywhere near ready to discern what that meant, but the information was tucked away in her mind for later.

Marshall didn't let himself think about how right it felt to have her in his arms. This wasn't the time or place. All he thought about was his promise to her. A promise he intended to keep. He wouldn't let her disappear. If for no other reason than he knew he would be lost without her.

Eventually they would pull apart. He would help her stand up and they would walk back to the station. She would insist she could drive herself. He would ignore her and drive her home anyway. He would ask if she was hungry and she would shake her head. Eventually they would be back in the real world.

But for now he would hold her tightly, as much for himself as for her. And for now, the feel of their hearts beating against each other was all they needed.


End file.
